Wild Child. Cindi Myers
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They passed a carnival laid out on the sand—Ferris wheel, arcade games, a stage and volleyball nets. A man in a lime-green turban and a Hawaiian shirt stood at a booth near a sign that read Magellan the All-Knowing. “What’s all this?” Sara asked.
“It’s all part of the big Sin on the Beach party.” Drew raised one eyebrow. “I figured that was what brought you here this week.”
She shrugged. “My friends said something about it, but I never realized it was so…elaborate.”
He nodded. “They’re hosting a week-long bash—games, dancing, contests, prizes. It’s bigger than spring break.”
A week-long bash? “Guess we lucked out.” She grinned at him. Talk about the perfect setting for a wild fling.
“My shop is just a little ways up the beach,” Drew said. “My grandparents started it almost forty years ago.”
“It’s hard to imagine having a grandfather who surfs,” she said. “It seems like such a hip, young thing to do.” Her own mother—like her father before he’d died—was a serious, hard-working person. Even after they’d moved to L.A., her mom had never acclimated to the west-coast lifestyle. She complained that the sun shone too much.
“Grandpa Gus definitely isn’t an old fogey,” Drew said. “If anything, he acts too young. He forgets he can’t do everything he could as a young man and it gets him into trouble.”
“And you worry about him,” she said.
He gave her a sharp look. “Does it show that much?”
“Not really. But I can relate. I’m the same way with my Uncle Spence. He’s younger than your grandfather, but he works so hard. He never lets himself relax, and he worries about everything. He depends on me a lot to help with his business and I hate to let him down.”
Drew nodded. “I love Grandpa, and I don’t really mind, but sometimes…” His voice trailed away.
“Yeah, sometimes.” She knew exactly how Drew felt. Could it be she wasn’t the only young adult in the world with too many responsibilities and too much guilt?
“Would you like to see the shop?” Drew asked. “Then maybe we could do something together.”
She could think of any number of things she would like to do with him—some of which involved wearing no clothes. Obviously her libido was taking the idea of a no-holds-barred vacation seriously. But even the more sensible part of her liked the idea of getting to know this man better. “That would be great,” she said.
Like a bad-tempered chaperone determined to cramp her style, her phone started vibrating, rattling against the keys in the bottom of her bag.
“What is that?” Drew asked.
“Nothing.” She groped in her bag, trying to locate the off button for the phone, but only succeeded in getting the strap wrapped around her sunglasses case.
“Seriously, what’s that buzzing noise?” Drew moved closer. “Do you have something in there?”
“No, really, it’s fine.” If she broke off yet another conversation with him to take a call, he was going to think she was a complete workaholic.
He stepped back, grinning. “I’ve heard about those things, but I never knew a woman who carried one with her to the beach.”
“It’s not… You don’t think—” Her face probably came close to matching the color of her swimsuit. She jerked the cell out of her bag. “It’s a phone!”
He laughed. “Hey, did I say it wasn’t?” He shook his head. “Go ahead and answer it. Maybe it’s your roommate again.”
She should be so lucky. She checked the caller ID. “No, it’s my uncle.”
“Then you’d better answer it.”
“Yeah, guess I’d better.” She flipped open the phone as she moved a few steps away.
“Sara, why haven’t you called the title company?” With those words, Uncle Spence made her magical mood vanish.
The title company! She groaned. “I’m sorry. I got busy and it slipped my mind. I’ll call in the morning.”
“You need to call now. Granger’s been asking me about the closing.” She pictured him standing in the clubhouse, sweat pouring down his red face, working himself into a lather over his imagined failure to make a good impression on his top client. “We’re having dinner later and I’d like to be able to tell him something specific,” he said.
“Just tell Mr. Granger that everything’s on schedule and he doesn’t need to worry.”
“Do you have that flow chart you made up that shows the closing process and everything that happens?”
“Ye-es.” She glanced at Drew. He was leaning on his board, looking out at the ocean. She hoped he wasn’t getting impatient.
“I’ll give you a number to fax it to,” Spence said. “I’ll give it to Granger at dinner. He’s wild for any kind of chart or graph.”
“I don’t have a fax machine right here.”
“Then e-mail it to the office. I’ll have Tabitha print it out and fax it.”
Drew glanced over at her. She waved. “Uncle Spence, can’t this wait?” she asked. “I’m really busy with something else right now.”
“How long will it take you to e-mail that chart? And one call to the title company isn’t so much to ask.” He sighed, sounding sad. “I’m really counting on you, Sara. It’s not like you to let me down.”
Every word was like another bucketful of sand being poured over her, burying her in guilt. She swallowed hard. “Okay. I’ll see what I can do.”
She hung up. So much for a carefree afternoon of romance. “Is something wrong?” Drew returned to her side. “You look upset.”
“I’m sorry, I have to go,” she said. She replaced the phone in her bag, avoiding his eyes. “Something’s come up at the office…I’m sorry.”
“You can’t let someone else take care of it?” he asked.
She shook her head. “No. I’d better go.”
She could feel his gaze on her, intense and probing, and disappointment dragged at her. He was such a great guy. They could have had fun together…. She shook her head. “It was great meeting you,” she said. Lame words, full of regret for what might have been.
“Yeah. Maybe I’ll see you around.”
“Yeah.” Except she’d be too mortified to go anywhere near him again.
Surfboard tucked under his arm, he strode across the sand. She watched him go, suppressing a sigh. Drew was just too perfect. She’d blown it. Lost her chance. She was doomed to a life chained to her computer.
HALF AN HOUR later, Sara had just finished e-mailing the flow chart to Uncle Spence and was debating opening a bottle of wine for her own private pity party when Ellie ran into the beach house. She skidded to a stop and her smile vanished when she saw Sara hunched over the computer. “Hey, what are you doing still working?” she said. “You promised to put that thing away.”
“I did put it away,” Sara said, shutting the lid to the laptop and turning to her friend. “I even went for a walk on the beach.”
“That’s more like it.” Ellie dropped onto the sofa. “So…did you meet any hot guys?”
Sara felt her face warm. “There was this one surfer….”
“I knew it!” Ellie leaned forward, hands between her knees. “What happened? Did you talk to him? Did he think you were hot? Did you tell him you needed